


one less day to be alone

by glowinghorizons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Height Differences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It strikes him suddenly just how small she is. He’s never thought of her as small before, mostly because her presence and sheer determination make up for what she lacks in physical height. Her head barely reaches his shoulders, and for a second, he’s distracted by the arch of her neck, and the way her eyes look bluer than anything he’s ever seen as she looks up at him.</p>
<p>Clearing his throat, he backs up quickly, almost knocking down the very shelf she fell off of. “I need to finish my rounds,” he tells her, and if he sounds a little hoarse… well… he’s probably just coming down with something. That’s it."</p>
<p>5 times Bellamy recognizes the height difference between he and Clarke, and 1 time it doesn't matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one less day to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt given to me on tumblr and i loved writing it! no real warnings. lyrics inset and used for the title are from "losing the lonely" by elenowen.

 

_i._

When a small yelp comes from the direction of the dropship, Bellamy stops in the middle of his rounds and moves towards the ramp before he can stop himself. Inside, he sees Clarke sitting on the floor, rubbing her ankle amongst a pile of bandages.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice coming out harsher than he intends.

She startles, and then glares at him. “Waiting for a bus,” she replies sarcastically, the old phrase from Earth coming out bitter.

Bellamy rolls his eyes and walks over to her, sitting down next to her to inspect her ankle. “You were climbing on the shelf again, weren’t you.” It’s not a question.

“I needed more bandages.”

Bellamy carefully turns her ankle left and then right, already seeing signs of swelling. Sighing, he reaches for one of the bandages next to her on the floor. “You need to be more careful,” he admonishes, but it doesn’t come out how he means it — that seems to be happening a lot more lately between he and Clarke.

Things changed after the incident at the bunker with Dax. They had an understanding, a connection that wasn’t there before. Sure, they still bicker and argue like children, but he’s convinced the barbs they throw at each other are good natured more often than not these days. He tries to talk to her like an equal, but there’s still a part of him that doesn’t understand why she insists on shouldering so much of the burden by herself. She doesn’t have to anymore, he made it clear. They would do it together.

“I can do that, you know,” she says, dragging him from his thoughts.

“Sure, but how else am I supposed to prove what a suave, charming gentleman I am?” He asks, flippant.

He thinks he sees her smile, but he doesn’t call her on it. He focuses on his task - wrapping her ankle tight, making sure she’ll be able to put her weight on it without it moving around too much. Once he’s satisfied, he stands, and holds out a hand to her. Gripping it, he hauls her to her feet, but she sways lightly in place, briefly colliding with his chest before she gains her balance again.

It strikes him suddenly just how _small_ she is. He’s never thought of her as small before, mostly because her presence and sheer determination make up for what she lacks in physical height. Her head barely reaches his shoulders, and for a second, he’s distracted by the arch of her neck, and the way her eyes look bluer than anything he’s ever seen as she looks up at him.

Clearing his throat, he backs up quickly, almost knocking down the very shelf she fell off of. “I need to finish my rounds,” he tells her, and if he sounds a little hoarse… well… he’s probably just coming down with something. That’s it.

.

_ii._

One day Clarke wakes Bellamy up at the crack of dawn to go with her to collect seaweed. He cracks an eye open and stares at her as she towers over him from where he’s sprawled on his pile of blankets.

“Why are you asking me?” He asks her, immediately having flashbacks of a time before when they had this exact conversation.

She smirks, and he thinks she’s remembering the same thing. “Because _someone_ instituted a mandatory buddy system, and _someone_ told everyone that he would personally handle their punishment if they went outside the walls without a buddy, and then _someone_ —“

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Bellamy grumbles, preparing to get out of his cozy nest of blankets that they’d acquired from the supply depot the last time they were there for a raid. The blankets had been in pretty decent shape already, and after they washed them with soap that Monty made for them, they’d been like new. It was definitely the best thing that had happened to them since getting on the ground, as far as making themselves more comfortable goes.

Bellamy has one leg in his pants before he realizes Clarke is still there, looking a little slack-jawed. A bolt of heat rushes through him at the realization, but he tries to play it off. The delinquents were far past being embarrassed about nakedness anymore. Someone was always half undressed in the medbay, or washing their shirts in the river, or hanging clothes out to dry over the large campfire after a long rain. It was fine. There’s no reason he should take the way Clarke is looking at him seriously.

Although… he can _feel_ her eyes on him. That’s a new development.

“Are you okay?” He blurts, feeling the need to break this weird tension.

Clarke jolts, looking at him with wide eyes. “What? I— yes. I’m fine. Are you ready yet?” She asks, snapping at him before turning and leaving his tent before he can even reply.

Interesting.

In a few minutes, they’re headed out towards the lake, Bellamy’s gun strapped across his back. He’s pleased when he notices Clarke’s knife tucked into her boot, and a gun tucked into her waistband. For someone who was against the idea of arming themselves, at least she’s smart enough not to leave the walls without protection. When they reach the lake, Clarke is already wading into the cool water up to her ankles, reaching down to pull out some seaweed.

Bellamy takes a seat on the closest boulder, pulling a small bag of nuts and dried berries out of his pocket. Breakfast to go. “How much is down there?” He asks around a mouthful, and Clarke glances at him quickly before going back to stuffing seaweed into a small bowl she had in her pack.

“Not a lot, honestly. I’ll probably have to go a little deeper.”

Bellamy frowns, “The water is too cold for you to go much deeper,” he says cautiously, aware that she’s going to fight him on this.

“I’m not going to go past my waist.”

“Whatever, princess.” Bellamy says, resigned, going back to eating his snack. He and Clarke resume a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, Clarke looking at him with a small smile when the sun makes an appearance. Bellamy feels like a cat; leaning backwards slightly and closing his eyes, letting the sun warm his face.

“Bellamy, I need your help,” Clarke calls out, startling him from his sleepy state. “I can’t reach this last clump.”

“Maybe that’s a sign we should head back?” Bellamy offers, but he’s already standing, halfway to the water.

“I just need a little more. You’re taller than me; you can reach this.”

Bellamy sees what’s going to happen before it does, but it’s like he’s moving in slow motion. One minute, Clarke is stretching forwards, pointing at the clump of seaweed in question, and the next, her foot slips on the rock underneath her, and she goes down, letting out a cry of pain before she’s under the water.

“Shit,” Bellamy hisses before quickly moving towards her, panic beginning to settle in when she doesn’t resurface right away. The water isn’t that deep, not even past her waist, but Bellamy’s worst fear is confirmed when she comes back above water, clutching her head. “Clarke?” He asks, still two steps away from her.

“Bell…” she says, sounding like she’s in a daze, and when she looks at him, her eyes are unfocused.

“Fucking hell, Clarke,” he growls, trying to get to her as fast as the water will allow. Getting closer, he pulls her hand away from her head and the crimson on her fingertips tells him what he already knows. “Dammit.”

“Hurts,” she murmurs just before she nearly faints straight back into the river.

Bellamy’s arms shoot out and catch her, hauling her against his chest. “No, no. Princess, wake up.”

Her eyes flutter, and he feels the strength come back in her legs, but her upper body is still limp against him. Again, their size difference startles him. His arms practically dwarf her, and he holds her upright easier than he expected.

“You can’t go to sleep. You have a concussion.”

“ _You’re_ a concussion,” she says, and if it were under normal circumstances he might have laughed.

“Okay,” Bellamy says begrudgingly, “Don’t punch me for this later,” he warns, before scooping her up in his arms. He slowly makes his way towards the shore, being careful of any other loose, slippery stones hidden under the water. “Open your eyes,” he barks at her when he realizes she’s half asleep. His tone is harsh, but she must hear the undercurrent of worry that runs through it.

“M’fine. Just need a nap.”

“No napping.”

“Yes napping.”

“Princess, if you have head trauma and die from it, I’m going to bring you back to life and then kill you myself.”

.

The next time Clarke opens her eyes, she’s in the dropship, and Bellamy is pacing in front of her. He stops when he feels her gaze on him and walks closer to the cot she’s resting on.

“I told you no napping.” He scowls.

“What happened?” She asks groggily, and some of the anger on Bellamy’s face fades away.

“You hit your head. You were bleeding pretty bad by the time I got you back here.”

“This is why I wanted you to get the seaweed. You could have just walked right up to it instead of me trying to reach for it like an idiot, and—“

“Hold on. Are you _blaming_ me for your concussion?!” Clarke reddens and Bellamy continues his tirade, “I can’t help it that you’re too stubborn to ask for help!”

“I _did_ ask for help!”

“And then you went for the seaweed anyway!”

They both stop, breathing heavily, glaring at each other. Bellamy is practically towering over her, he realizes. She doesn’t look intimidated in the slightest, however, and he wonders for a half second if she’ll ever stop surprising him.“I’m glad you’re okay,” he mutters, and walks out of the dropship before she can say anything else.

.

_iii._

“All I’m saying is that you had a sore ankle and a concussion in the same month, so maybe you should just stay here, in the dropship…” Jasper gestures around them,” … forever.”

Clarke gives him a look that makes him sort of shrink into himself, and Bellamy bites his lip to keep from laughing as he watches the interaction unfold from his place leaning against the doorframe.

“This is serious!” Jasper says to him, “Clarke can’t keep getting hurt. Who’s going to take care of everyone else?”

“I’m not staying in the dropship forever,” Clarke deadpans.

“I don’t know, princess,” Bellamy says, mischief written all over his face, “Jasper is sort of right.”

Jasper puffs up in pride at Bellamy’s words. “See? I can be right about stuff.”

Clarke narrows her eyes at both of them. “Listen to me. The only way I am staying inside this dropship is if there’s a hurricane outside, or if I’m dying. Seeing as how neither of those things are imminent, you are going to get out of my way and let me join the hunting party.”

Jasper looks to Bellamy for backup, but the older boy simply shrugs as if to say _sorry buddy, better luck next time_.

“If you’re done being idiots, we can go,” Clarke says, in her best leader-y voice. “We should have been gone an hour ago. We’re wasting daylight.” She stomps out of the dropship past Bellamy and Jasper, slinging her pack over her shoulder as she goes.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’,” Bellamy starts, trying not to laugh.

“What if she’s cursed or something?!” Jasper says, his voice taking on that high-pitched quality it does when he gets excited or upset. “What if—“

“Enough,” Bellamy says, firm enough to get Jasper’s attention, but good natured enough to make sure the kid knows he’s not angry at him. “She’s going to punch both of us if we don’t get out there. Get Miller; let’s go.”

When they walk out of the dropship, Clarke is already standing in the middle of camp with Miller, glaring at the dropship ramp, her pack on her shoulder, her body language radiating impatience. This time, Bellamy can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, or the wide smile that stretches across his face. He saunters down the ramp, watching as Jasper skirts a wide berth around Clarke.

Bellamy slings an arm around her when he gets close enough, pleased at the way she fits against him. She is the perfect height for him to do this, and he tries hard not to notice the earthy pine scent of her hair where it presses against his chin. “Don’t look so mad, Clarke,” he whispers, “Jasper might cry himself to sleep.” He laughs harder when she shoves him away.

“I can’t believe you indulged that ridiculous idea of his,” she grouses, her hand lingering on his arm for a second before it falls back to her side.

“He’s worried about you,” Bellamy chides, “Give him a break.”

“I’m tired of giving people breaks,” she says bitterly, and when Bellamy looks at her, she’s not looking at him anymore, but across the camp to where Finn stands with Raven, looking over her shoulder as she works on something. Bellamy is aware then that she’s not talking about Jasper anymore, but something that he has no desire to get into with her.

Bellamy isn’t privy to all the details as to what happened between her and Finn, but he knows an asshole when he sees one (it takes one to know one, after all). His jaw clenches involuntarily, and he gestures towards the open gate. “Let’s go,” he says quietly, when he has her attention.

“Yeah,” she agrees absentmindedly, and as they walk out, Bellamy settles his arm around her shoulders once more.

She doesn’t shrug him off this time.

.

_iv._

“Listen up!” Bellamy shouts over the din, trying to get everyone’s attention. Their voices quiet immediately, but he doesn’t feel smug about it like he might have when they first landed on the ground. “I want to know who saw the guards, and where. Now.”

No one moves, and next to him, Clarke sighs. “You’re not in trouble. We just want to know what we’re up against.”

It’s been a year since they took on the grounders and miraculously managed to secure an alliance, and now rumors throughout camp are that someone saw Ark guards in the woods. Bellamy finds it unbelievable that they wouldn’t have noticed the Ark come down, but a storm blew through camp a week ago, and if they landed off course because of the storm, it’s possible they would have gone unnoticed by the kids holed up in the dropship.

“I saw them,” a voice pipes up from the back, and of course it’s John fucking Murphy, because why wouldn’t it be? “I don’t know who they are but I recognized the uniform.”

He actually sounds sincere, which should have been Bellamy’s first clue that everything was going to go to shit. The words have no sooner left Murphy’s mouth when there’s a loud _bang_ on the gate. “What the _fu_ —“ Bellamy starts, before the entire wall lets out an ominous _creak_ , and then the entire camp bursts into activity. Bellamy grips Clarke’s forearm to keep her from getting jostled, and starts shouting out orders. “Get to your posts!” He shouts, but the gunners are already there, and Miller is on Bellamy’s left, his weak side, like always. Octavia takes her place on Clarke’s right.

“Looking to you, princess,” Bellamy murmurs, echoing words from the last time they faced a threat, and he looks down to see her determined gaze on the wall turn steely.

“Open the gate,” she says, and he squeezes her arm once in warning before she takes a step away from him. “Miller, open the gate,” she repeats, firmer.

Miller looks to Bellamy, who nods. He doesn’t like it, but he’s learned the hard way not to underestimate Clarke Griffin. They’ve faced enough threats in their time on the ground, and he knows that if worst comes to worst, a grounder patrol has probably already heard the noise and alerted Anya.

The four of them move forward, Octavia unsheathing her sword, the one Lincoln gave her, and Bellamy forcibly reminds himself that now is not the time to get protective over his little sister. They’ve got bigger fish to fry. Miller nods to Harper and Sterling, who begin to pull open the gate slowly. Everyone has their guns poised and ready, and Bellamy allows himself to feel a little bit of pride at the precision with which everyone pulls together to defend themselves.

When the gates are opened, he’s surprised Clarke doesn’t lose it right then and there.

Abigail Griffin is there, surrounded by the Guard, with Vice Chancellor Kane.

“Clarke,” the woman croaks out, but Clarke doesn’t move. She hesitates, and that’s enough for Bellamy. He takes half a step in front of Clarke, just enough to shield her slightly. She might hate him for it later, but he doesn’t care. For once, he’s going to let his height advantage over her mean something.

“Councillors,” Bellamy greets, his tone frosty. “Can’t say we were expecting you.”

Kane looks warily at the rifles pointed at them from angles. “Stand down,” he says, and Bellamy grins, but it’s not good natured, it’s dangerous.

“We can’t do that. You’re trespassers.”

“We represent the Council—“ Abby interrupts, but Clarke’s voice is louder.

“The council doesn’t have any power here.” She walks around Bellamy, and takes two steps closer to her mother. “We didn’t see the Ark come down,” she says, but it’s a question, too.

“We… we crashed. We landed farther away than we originally planned. We’ve been walking all day to find you.”

Bellamy sees Clarke soften at this, but she doesn’t make a move to get any closer to the only living family she has left. He doesn’t blame her, not after what he heard her mother did. Bellamy is always suspicious of anyone on the council, but he’s especially wary of Clarke’s mother.

“You can stay and I’ll help you treat the wounded from the Ark. After that we can talk about what’s going to happen.”

“Clarke—“

“Not now,” Clarke says sharply, her voice pure steel. “I need to talk to Bellamy. Miller, Octavia, collect their weapons and help them get anyone who’s hurt into the dropship.”

“We won’t be disarmed,” Kane says, “Absolutely not.”

“Then you don’t come in.” Bellamy argues. “Right now, I’d guess there are about fifteen grounder warriors in the trees, watching this entire interaction. One wrong move, and someone’s going to have an arrow in their throat. Give up your guns, and they won’t see you as a threat.”

“Is that what you see us as? A threat?” Kane asks, daring Bellamy to speak against them.

“That depends on how easily you give up your weapons.”

Clarke’s mother demands that everyone do as they’re told, and Bellamy watches with smug satisfaction as Miller, Sterling, Harper and Octavia collect the weapons from the members of the guard. Afterwards, everyone files into the center of camp, where Bellamy instructs them to get water and some food for the Arkers. He all but drags Clarke into the Comms tent afterwards. “What the _fuck_ are you thinking, inviting them in here?”

“They’re not going to attack us,” she argues.

“They tried to knock the wall down,” Bellamy says incredulously. “There’s no way they didn’t know it was us. You can see the dropship above the walls.”

“If this is you going on some kind of power trip—“

“Is that what you think?” Bellamy replies, hurt. “Clarke, they sent us down here to _die_. Now they want our _help_? Fuck that.”

“We have to help the people from the crash.”

“I agree, but not at the cost of our freedom. We should go to the crash site. There’s bound to be more people there who couldn’t make the trip here. If they manage to get their weapons back, they could take over this entire camp faster than you can blink.”

Clarke sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. She seems to close in on herself, looking smaller than Bellamy can ever remember seeing her. “She’s my mother.” She murmurs, her voice cracking. “No matter what she’s done, I can’t just…” she trails off, shrugging, as if looking to Bellamy for the answers.

He exhales heavily. “Clarke, I know she’s your mother, but we can’t let them come in here and take over. We’ve… we built this place with our bare hands!” He says, feels his voice shake with emotion, “We almost died to protect this place, to protect these kids. We can’t just let the Council walk back in here and think they have any kind of authority. Not when our blood was spilled on this ground.” He walks closer to her, puts his hand on her shoulder. “I can’t let that happen.”

She looks up at him, cranes his neck to do it, and he swallows heavily at the look of complete trust in her eyes. “I know you’re right. I know it. Bellamy, you know I trust you. I just… I have a hard time doing anything that goes against what she wants. I’ve never been able to stand up to her.”

Bellamy shakes his head vehemently. “No. You just never had the _chance._ ”

.

_v_.

Bellamy takes a deep breath before ducking into Clarke’s tent, rolling his eyes at himself for hesitating. Clarke was mad at him again. So goes another day on the ground.

“Get out,” she says, without turning around, and he looks towards the ceiling, as if looking for guidance.

“Clarke—“

_“_ I said _get out_.” She whirls around, and something in his chest tightens when he sees her red-rimmed eyes. She marches up to him until they’re inches apart. “Go right now, or I swear, Bellamy Blake, I’ll—“

“You know, you’re not that scary when you’re yelling at my neck.”

Clarke’s eyes widen and then narrow again in anger, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“I’m just saying. You’re kind of small.”

“Do you _want_ me to murder you?”

Bellamy can’t help it, he huffs out a laugh, but that only serves to make her more angry. Her hand flies towards his face, but he catches her wrist. “ _Jesus_ , Clarke—“

“What the hell were you thinking?” She growls, “He could have killed you.”

Bellamy shakes his head in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Let him stab _you_? You don’t know me at all if you think I’d let that happen.”

Their weekly meeting with the Ark had ended abruptly as a disgruntled citizen had burst into the council room with a knife, drunkenly shouting about not standing for letting a bunch of kids order him around. He’d been disarmed quickly, but not before Bellamy had shoved Clarke behind him out of instinct, leaving him only inches away from the man’s blade.

They were both breathing heavily, staring at each other, the emotions from the day too much. They’d spent the entirety of their walk back to the dropship in a stony silence, Miller and Octavia exchanging worried looks over Clarke and Bellamy’s heads.

Bellamy watches as Clarke tries to make herself look taller, rolling her shoulders back as she meets his eyes. “I had it under control. He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

“Your self defense has gotten better, but not that good, princess,” Bellamy drawls, earning him another glare. “Look. If the time comes where I could take the blow for you, I will, every time. You need to accept that—“

“I won’t!” She snaps back, and that breathless quality is back in her voice. “I won’t accept that, because I can’t do this without you. I can’t, and I won’t let you sacrifice yourself just because you’re on some macho quest to prove that you can _protect me_ —“

“Clarke—“

“I can take care of myself and I won’t let you put yourself in harm’s way for me. I won’t, and you can’t do it again or I swear, Bellamy, I’ll—“

“Listen to me,” Bellamy growls, bending down slightly so they’re eye-to-eye. “If there’s a choice, I am always going to choose you first. That’s just the way it is.”

Clarke looks like she wants to say something more, but she doesn’t. She simply surges forward and presses her lips to his, until his mind goes white. He doesn’t hesitate to embrace her, to pull her closer, to envelop her tightly in his arms until she _understands_. He kisses her again, desperately, their mouths meeting again and again until he’s sure she understands that somehow she’s become the most important thing in his life, the one thing that he is not willing to surrender to this life they’ve created on the ground. He would give mostly anything up for his sister and for Clarke — his freedom, his own life, but he won’t have it the other way. He won’t let anything take her away from him, not if he has another choice.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers when they break apart for air, his emotions escaping him in the least romantic way possible.

She lets out a breathless laugh that he wants to hear a thousand more times and reaches up to frame his face with her hands. “Don’t do it again. Please. I can’t lose you either.”

His heart seems to settle into place after years of turmoil at her words. It feels like a puzzle piece sliding into place, and he knows he won’t trade this feeling for anything.

.

_vi._

“Ask nicely.”

“Hand it over and I won’t murder you in your sleep,” Clarke deadpanned. “ _Please_.” she added, voice sugary-sweet.

Bellamy is holding Clarke’s journal above his head. To her credit, she’s not even trying to reach for it, seemingly realizing that it wouldn’t matter. Bellamy has come to realize that he loves their difference in height. It doesn’t make sense, but he likes that where he is tall and imposing, she’s smaller and gentle. Where he’s all hard lines, she’s soft curves. Where he’s intimidating glares, she’s reassuring smiles. It works, just like they do.

He’s forcefully brought out of his reverie when Clarke basically tackles him, and they both fall sideways onto his pallet. It’s cushier than normal, now that they’ve got actual real blankets, but he still lets out an _oof_ when Clarke’s elbow digs into his ribs as they land.

“Who’s the tallest one now?” She grins triumphantly, holding her journal above her head as she sits astride his lap. She looks so proud of herself and it’s so fucking cute that he can’t even get out the dirty joke that popped into his mind at their compromising position.

“Enjoy it while you can, princess,” he grumbles.

“Pouting doesn’t suit you.”

“Well, this position definitely suits _you_ ,” he tells her, winking. Okay, maybe just _one_ dirty joke.

And, okay, yeah. If him letting her best him gets that smile on her face, he’ll take it every time.

_First thing I see in the morning,_  
_Last dream I have at night,_  
_Without a single warning,_  
_You got this heart of mine_   
  
**End**   


**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr.](http://dreamingundone.tumblr.com)


End file.
